


Comatose

by deanspuddingpie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester POV, SPN - Freeform, Supernatural - Freeform, Supernatural AU - Freeform, Third Person POV, spn au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-04-04
Packaged: 2019-04-18 14:45:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14215437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deanspuddingpie/pseuds/deanspuddingpie
Summary: The last thing Dean heard was someone screaming his name. He looked up at Sam, both of their eyes filling with tears.Where was Cas?Dean quickly glanced around but Cas was nowhere to be seen and he was running out of time.“Dean,” Sam panted, putting his hands on his brother’s face. “Dean, come on. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.”It was the kind of words Dean had always said to Sam, but never truly believed.They outran demons and vampires and angels, but this time, Dean didn’t think he was going to be okay. They never really were, once he thought about it. But this time . . . there was no hope.





	1. Chapter 1

**One**

**T** he last thing Dean heard was someone screaming his name. He looked up at Sam, both of their eyes filling with tears.

Where was Cas?

Dean quickly glanced around but Cas was nowhere to be seen and he was running out of time.

“Dean,” Sam panted, putting his hands on his brother’s face. “Dean, come on. Stay with me. You’re going to be okay.”

It was the kind of words Dean had always said to Sam, but never truly believed.

They outran demons and vampires and angels, but this time, Dean didn’t think he was going to be okay. They never really were, once he thought about it. But this time . . . there was no hope.

 **Four Days Earlier**  
 **“S** o, get this,” Sam said, sliding the newspaper across the table to Dean. “This man was stabbed eight times and he didn’t die.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Weird. But this doesn’t really seem to be up our alley.”

“Dean. Stabbed. Eight times.”

Dean shrugged.

“But, that’s not all,” Sam pulled the newspaper back to him and licked his lips. “The man says there was no killer. All it was was a floating knife.”

Dean leaned in. “A floating knife? Seriously?”

“Maybe it’s worth checking out,”

“Sam, this man was stabbed eight times by a floating knife.”

“Exactly,” Sam said, looking excited. They hadn’t had a case in weeks, and Dean had to admit being cooped up in a musty motel room was getting old. The thought of a new case was actually kind of exciting. “—doesn’t seem like the sort of thing that happens on a day-to-day basis.” Sam finished.

Dean nodded, pretending like he listened to the whole thing. “Alright then. What hospital is the freak at?”

Sam gave Dean a look that he knew to well, but always ignored. “He’s staying at, uh, Holton Community Hospital.”

“Holton,” Dean repeated. “That sounds familiar.”

“It’s just over two hours from Lawrence.”

Lawrence wasn’t a far drive from where they were staying. Maybe they could go see their old home when they were done with the case. “We better get a move on then.” 


	2. Two

**Two**

**“I** already talked to the FBI  _ and  _ Homeland Security. I wasn’t even at home when it happened.” Bill—the man who was stabbed eight times by a floating knife—looked exhausted. Not because he’d been stabbed so many times, but because he’d already had this conversation so many times. 

 

“Well, we think we found some new information, but the other guys that were working this case had to take a last minute trip to Ohio. We got some of their notes, but we just want to go through it with you again. Make sure we have the story straight.” Sam said, opening his notebook. 

 

“Just read the papers,” Bill sighed. “The full story is in there.”

 

Sam and Dean stood there, staring at Bill, waiting for him to tell them the story in his words. 

 

Bill sighed  again. “Fine. I was visiting my dad for the night. He owns a farm about half an hour south of here and he was having troubles getting his tractor to start. It was going to rain and he wanted to get it under shelter so it didn’t rust and whatnot. So I drove there to help him. When I got there he gave me the keys and said he was making something to eat so he couldn’t come help me. He said to come inside when I got it parked because he made too much food,” he paused, making sure Sam was writing everything down, then continued. “I couldn’t get the tractor to start, so I was looking underneath and all over trying to see what was wrong with it. I went back to the shed to fill it up with gas and when I came back the tractor was running. My dad was there, laying on the ground covered in blood. 

 

“I saw a knife in the grass and wondered if he’d killed himself. But then the knife rose in the air and came after me.” 

 

“How bad did it hurt?” Dean asked. 

 

Sam elbowed him in the ribs, giving him a warning look. 

 

“That’s just the thing,” Bill said, his eyes wide. “I couldn’t feel a thing.” 

 

Sam and Dean exchanged looks. 

 

“Is there anything else we should know?” Sam asked. 

 

Bill shrugged. “Like what?” 

 

“Did it get cold suddenly?”

 

Bill frowned. “It was raining, so I guess it was already cold. But it’s always cold at my dad’s house. I don’t know why. It wasn’t like that growing up, but every time I’ve visited in the past year it’s been freezing inside and outside.” 

 

“Did you smell sulfur?” Dean asked excitedly. This was starting to get interesting. 

 

“Sulfur?” Bill repeated. “It  _ always _ smells like sulfur—like propane, you know? Or rotten eggs.” 

 

Sam closed his notebook and nodded, handing Bill his card. “Thank you for your time. Call us if you remember anything else or something comes up.”

 

Bill took the card and set it on his bed-side table. 

 

“Do you think his dad was a demon?” Sam asked once they were out of earshot. 

 

“I don’t know,” Dean frowned. “If he was, why would he go after his own son?”

 

“We’ve has weirder cases, Dean.”

 

“I say we go pay the old man a visit,”

 

Sam tucked the notebook in the pocket of his suit jacket and raised an eyebrow at Dean. “He’s dead.”

 

Dean sighed. “I meant let’s go see his house. You know, the scene of the crime.” 

 

“We need an address. I can go back and ask Bill,” Sam turned on his heel but Dean grabbed his arm before he could walk away. 

 

“That won’t be necessary.” He held up the newspaper where they originally saw the article and Sam looked at the picture below the headline; “Ghost murder?” 

 

It was a picture of the house, with a large field behind it. The tractor was parked in the field. 

 

“Dean, this could be anywhere in Kansas.” 

 

Dean rolled his eyes. “Pay attention, law boy.” He pointed at the house and Sam leaned in. 

 

“The house number,” Sam said under his breath. “That’s something, I guess.” 

 

Dean looked like he was at the end of his rope. “Jesus, Sam, for someone who went to Stanford you aren’t the brightest cookie in the cookie jar.” He knew his comments about Stanford bothered Sam, which was the only reason he made them. 

 

Sam glared at Dean. “What am I supposed to be looking at then?” 

 

Dean pointed at the right side of the picture. “It looks like Bill’s father lived on the end of a block. They got the street sign in the picture.”

 

Sam sighed. “You know what, Dean, that would have been a hell of a lot easier if you’d just told me that in the first place.”

 

“It also would’ve been a hell of a lot easier if you were more observant.”

 

_ “Stop your bickering, girls, we have bigger things to deal with right now.”  _

 

Dean froze. 


	3. Three

**Three**

**E** ver since Bobby had died, Dean still heard him in his head. Like once he died, instead of going to heaven or hell, he moved into Dean’s head.

 

He didn’t tell Sam about it, because he already knew what he would say.

 

“You can’t push away these feelings, Dean. I miss him, too but we have to acknowledge that it happened. We should talk about it.”

 

If seemed like Sam’s solution to everything was to talk about it.

 

Dean shut up and stopped arguing with Sam. He always listened to Bobby’s voice, hoping he could make up for all of  the times he didn’t listen to Bobby when he was alive.

 

Guilt ate away at Dean the way it did when everyone else he loved died. Sam and Cas were all he had now. He didn’t know what he would do if he lost them.

 

Well, he did. But he tried not to think about it.

  
  


Dean parked the Impala and followed Sam up the driveway. “So what are we looking for, exactly?”

 

Sam sighed. “Evidence, Dean. Anything—sulfur, the floating knife, anything that can confirm that this is a demon.”

 

Dean’s mind was somewhere else entirely. He didn’t register anything Sam was saying to him.

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

Dean stopped walking to listen. “Do you hear that?”

 

Sam stopped too. “Hear what?”

 

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

 

“That beeping,” Dean looked around. He couldn't figure out where it was coming from. It felt like it was surrounding him.

 

Sam shook his head lightly. “I don't hear anything,” he studied Dean’s face and frowned. “Dean, are you okay?”

 

Dean nodded, but the steady beeping continued as he followed Sam to the front porch of the house.

 

It became more distant as Sam picked the lock and they went inside.

 

Sam pulled the EMF out of his pocket and Dean followed him through the house, looking for sulfur or anything else that could lead them closer to the mysterious floating knife.

 

After thoroughly searching every room, they went back outside to the stretch of grass and fields.

 

Dean whistled. “This is a nice place. Do you think they'll sell it?”

 

“Who?” Sam asked.

 

“Bill’s parents. They own this place, don't they?”

 

“Bill never mentioned his mom. His dad died the night of the tractor slash floating knife incident.”

 

“So it's technically Bill’s house. Unless his mom is still alive. Maybe they're separated or something.”

 

Sam ignored Dean and he only sounds around them was the wind rustling the trees and the dry grass crunching beneath their feet as they made their way out to the field.

 

They quickened their step when the tractor came into view. It was getting dark out and they wanted to solve this case before whatever it was that killed Bill’s dad came after them, too.

 

Sam’s phone rang and Dean crouched down by the tractor, looking for the knife, hoping it was still there.

 

“Wilson,” Sam answered the phone. “He what? But how did that happen? I thought he was stable. We’ll be right there.”

 

Dean stood as Sam hung up the phone, sliding it back into his jacket pocket. “Bill died.”

 

“How?”

 

“I don't know, Dean. I think being stabbed eight times has something to do with it, though.”

 

Dean opened his mouth, trying to find something snarky to say, but realized that he didn't care. He was too exhausted. Worn down by everything that had happened in the past two weeks.  And now their case just got a lot harder.

 

The faint beeping followed Dean to the car and this time it did not go away. He could still hear it when they got to the hospital, and tried to tune it out as they followed the doctor to Bill’s room, asking questions about his injury and when they found him. Dean let Sam ask most of the questions and tried his hardest to focus on the conversation, but the steady beeping was getting louder and he felt himself slipping from the room.

 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice was muffled, like he was underwater. “Dean!”

 

He blinked against fluorescent lights and he was back in Bill’s room, staring at his lifeless body.

 

“Dean, are you okay?” Sam asked.

 

Dean looked up. Both Sam and the doctor were staring at him with identical looks of concern.

 

“What? Yeah, I'm fine. Sorry. I must have zoned out for a second. It's been a long day . . .”

 

Sam nodded and continued asking the doctor questions and it wasn't until the doctor said, “Well, you can ask his nurse, but I'm not sure she'll be of much use. We had to fire her yesterday. She was seeing things—she said she saw Bill’s eyes go  Dean started really listening.

 

“What?”

 

“Yeah,” the doctor shook his head. “I felt bad, but we can't have that kind of drama here. Professionals only.” He laughed.

 

“Can I get the name of the, uh, nurse? The one that saw him with black eyes. I just want to ask her a few questions.” Sam said, pulling out his notebook.

 

“Sure. But if I were you, I wouldn't believe anything she said. She doesn't seem right in the head, as they say.”

  
  


“If anyone isn't right in the head, it's that doctor.” Dean said as they left the hospital.

 

Sam just shook his head disapprovingly and got into the car.

 

Dean wanted to go back to the hotel, but Sam handed him the piece of paper he had the address written down on and said, “Gwen lives about twenty minutes north of here. Start driving, I'll get you directions.”

 

Dean sighed and put the car in reverse, backing out of the parking spot and squealing his tires as he pulled out onto the main road. If he couldn't eat some greasy fast food and go to bed, he could at least make this trip a little fun.


	4. Four

**Four**

**“Y** ou wouldn't believe me if I told you.” Martha, Bill’s ex nurse said. 

 

Dean snorted. He always found it funny when someone said “you wouldn't believe me if I told you.”  With the amount of things Sam and Dean have seen, it was always the other way around. They wouldn't believe they hunted ghosts. The rare times they told someone they were supernatural hunters they would say something along the lines of, “Oh like Ghostbusters?” And it pisses Dean off. 

 

“Try me.” Dean said now, raising his eyebrows and giving Martha a playful smile. 

 

Martha blushed. “Well, I went to check on Bill like I do every night before I go home. When I got closer to his room, the temperature dropped pretty drastically. To the point where I could faintly see my breath. I figured Bill had gotten warm and asked one of the doctors or nurses to turn the temperature down in the room. It's pretty normal for someone's body temperature to increase when they're recovering from a room like that. When I went into Bill’s room he was sitting there, staring at me. And his eyes were completely black. He had this evil grin on his face that you only see on villains in movies or hear about in books.”

 

“Did he talk to you?” Dean asked. 

 

Martha pursed her lips and shook her head lightly. “No. I ran out of the room and called his doctor. I'd never seen anything like that before, but I thought maybe he had. Maybe he knew what was wrong . . .”

 

“But he didn't believe you.” Dean finished. 

 

She shook her head again. “He didn't believe me.”

 

They sat there for a moment.  None of them said anything for a minute and a forty-green seconds (Dean counted because after twenty seconds he got extremely bored and he wanted to see how long he could go without breaking the silence. He didn't last as long as he hoped he would.)

 

“Is there anything else we should know?” He asked. 

 

Martha shook her head. Again. That was her thing, apparently. “That's all that happened.”

 

Dean smiled and got to his feet, pulling a business card from his jacket pocket. “Thank you for your time. Call us if anything comes up.”

 

Martha took the card from Dean, frowning. “Um, right. Thanks . . . .”

  
  
  


“So what's up with you?” Dean asked when they were back in the Impala and on their way back to the motel. When they left Martha’s house Dean voted they call it quits for the night and picked up where they left off tomorrow morning and Sam didn't argue. He'd been quiet since they left Bill’s parent’s house, which was pretty unlike him. It was usually Dean who was the strong and silent one. 

 

“Nothing's up with me,” Sam shrugged. “What's up with you?”

 

“Oh come on,” Dean sighed. “Don't give me that ‘nothing's up with me’ crap. I'm the one that invented ‘nothing's up with me’ and changing the subject. It doesn't work on me.”

 

“I didn't change the subject, Dean. There's nothing wrong. It's just been a long day.”

 

“I also invented ‘it's just been a long day’ and ‘I'm tired,’ so don't even try that.”

 

Sam sighed and looked out the window. “It just brings back a lot of memories,” 

 

“What does?”

 

“Kansas.”

 

“Do you want to go home?” Dean asked. And this time, he didn't mean home as in wherever Baby was parked. He meant Home. Home where he carried his brother out of the house and watched his life burn to the ground. Dean wasn't sure what he'd do if he saw it again. He was sure it looked different.  Obviously it did. They had to rebuild it completely. But it would always be home to Sam and Dean. 

 

“Not tonight. I'm not ready to see it.” Sam said. 

 

Dean understood what he meant. He wasn't sure he would ever really be ready. But sometimes you have to do things you aren't ready for. Sometimes the best experiences come from pushing yourself a little. But Dean was tired of pushing. He needed a pull for once. For someone to pull him in and comfort him. But he'd never admit that out loud. 

 

There was a soft flapping of wings and before he could look up, he heard a deep voice greeting him. 

 

“Hello, Dean.”

 

He didn't realize he'd been praying. 


End file.
